textfiles/sex/EROTICA/Y/yale.txt

Archive-name: School/yale.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Yale Frat Party


Here is a story -somewhat true, somewhat rumor, but either way, fairly
jucy, well worth the time to read, but clearly not for the meek.
 
 
"Just one more night," she begged him.
 
He stood in the doorway, looked at her tear-streaked face with a certain
amount of disdain.  He knew he was about finished with her.  She didn't
know that yet, evidently.  Too bad.
 
"Come on, Brad.  I can't...I can't believe that you don't want to see me
anymore.  I know I can change your mind."  She smiled, even through her
tears.  "You still want me, don't you?"
 
He eyed her body critically beneath the tight-fitting sweatclothes.  As
far as bodies went, it was a good one.  When he had first seen her tight,
firm flesh clearly revealed by a set of running tights, he'd known that
he would get in, somehow.
 
It hadn't been hard.
 
It was a DKE party.  She'd been at the keg.  He spilled beer on her
accidentally on purpose.  She hardly noticed, until he pointed it out
to her.  She was grateful for the information.  She turned out to be
grateful enough to share his sleeping quarters that evening.
It had been a very fulfilling evening.  Well, fulfilling for her.
Draining for him.  Afterwards, he found out that her name was Linda.
 
But that was a month ago, and now he was ready to move on to other conquests.
was more than ready, in fact.  He'd had several rather acrobatic experiences
with one of her more distant acquaintances.  Linda had noticed the way he had
looked at the flesh beneath her very-loose-with-no-bra-halter top.  She
evidently had thought it was nothing but a passing fancy.  In fact, that
very night he had been extremely helpful in removing the girl's halter top.
Among other things.
 
Here she was, though, looking at him with wide eyes, unconsciously moving
her legs apart.  That was a habit that he liked; when they were alone, she
knew where she stood in relation to him.  Or knelt, occasionally.
And, looking at the tight curve of her thighs, noting the movement of her
breasts in sympathy with her sobs, he decided that she was worth one last
night.  Not a night that would tie him to her, like she intended.  At least,
not for more than a few hours.  But it wouldn't do to appear too interested;
not yet.
 
"I said it's over.  What difference can a night make?"
"A lot of difference.  All the difference."  She was almost frantic. "Remember
the time in your room after that concert?  Remember how good it was?  Do you
remember what you said?"
 
He didn't.  According to her, he'd said he loved her.  Chances are, he had.
Said it, that is.  Not loved her.
 
She moved closer to him.  She pressed her body to his unmoving one, and despite
his attempt to appear uninterested, it was hard not to be stirred by the
firm yeilding softness of her breasts crushed frantically to him, the wriggle
in her hips that moved maddeningly against his member.  She felt his response,
even through the haze of alcohol, put her tongue to his lips.  Yes, he wanted
her.  But he would have her his way, this time.  He didn't care what she
thought afterwards, didn't intend to see her afterwards.
 
He smiled.  After all, she'd be getting what she wanted.
 
She interpreted his smile as acquiescence, and moved her lips to his, but he
remained cold, drew his head back somewhat.  "You're sure you want this?"
"Oh, yeah," she breathed.
So he pulled her closer to him.  And she liked it, thought she had managed
to manipulate him.  That wasn't right.  It was time for him to assert his
mastry over her.  He thrust his tongue between her lips, moved his hands to
her warm buttocks and pressed them together, slid them down and spread
her thighs slightly so she could ride him more easily.  He knew what it took
to make her moan, knew that she loved it when he tickled her gently through
her clothes.  Gentility was not on the evening's agenda, however.  He wanted
her hot and hard, moved his hands roughly to her breasts, squeezing them,
sunk his teeth into her lips.  She loved it all.
 
Just then, a thought came to him.  He disengaged, pushed her thighs away again
so he could view her fully as he spoke.  He noted, with approval, that the
crotch of her sweatpants was faintly damp.  That was another thing he liked
about Linda; she lubricated well, and at the slightest stimulation.
 
"One last time.  Okay.  But not here."
"Where?  The bedroom?  Your room?  Name it." Eager, awaiting further attention
from his body.  Wanting to fulfill her soft wanting with hard and violent
pressure.  But she was not ready for his demand.
 
"Get into the bathroom.  Take off your clothes and lie down on the floor.
I'll be in eventually."
 
"What?  But what if... I mean, people might..."
"They might, and I don't care.  They can look at your cunt all they like. But
if you want me to fuck you, you better get in there and spread your legs.
And you better look like you mean it."
 
She looked trapped, uncertain, and that intensified his hard-on with a raging
surge.  He knew that she was torn internally between a need and a fear, but
that her need would betray her, that now she had to have him.  He fell onto
her couch and placed his hands behind his head, smiling, waiting for her to
move.
 
After a few long moments, she did.  In the direction of the bathroom.  Of
course she closed the door after her.  He frankly didn't care if anyone came
in while she was undressing, or while he was having her.  In fact, he would
like that, allowing her to be visually possessed by yet another, destroying
whatever self-will she had even further.
 
He waited for as long as he knew it would take her to undress, compensating
amply for her inebriated state, and added another fifteen minutes.  By now,
he was sure, she was playing with herself, trying to keep the heat which he
had imparted to her.  She liked to do that, liked to have him watch.  It was
an interesting experience to see her climax all alone, to watch the quiver
in her pelvis and the transported expression in her half-lidded eyes.  He
was tempted to peer in through a crack in the doorway and watch her, but he
knew she was expecting that, and refused to subordinate to her desire in any
way.
 
When he finally entered, he saw that he'd been right.  Her hand was stroking
the area between her legs slowly but forcefully.  Her smooth, clear skin
contrasted nicely with the checkerboard beige of the floor.  It must have
been uncomfortable, not to mention cold; her legs shivered slightly,
deliciously.  But it was the look on her face, the mixture of gladness that
he had arrived and vague apprehension about her vulnerable state, that
brought him to readiness.  He stood for a while above her, simply looking.
When she lay down, her breasts lost something of their firmness, and flattened
somewhat across her chest.  But her nipples were quite stiff, with cold or
with excitement, he didn't care which.  That was where he decided to start.
 
Her hands pulled his head to her chest, like mother to infant, as he took her
nipples and pulled with his lips.  No infant was ever so in possession of his
mother, though.  No infant was ever about to violate his mother so harshly.
The sweaty tang of her flesh was sweet to his tongue, the tart warmth
inviting.  He moved lower, to her flat belly, delving into her navel, biting
the inside of her thigh.  She cried aloud at that, but not with great
vehemence.  It would not have mattered.
 
About to essay her cleft, he thought better of it, and left off with a slow
and tantalizing lingual caress.  It was time for her to take care of him.
He stood, and undressed, watching her watching him.  Her eyes were never on
his face, always on his cock.  And she thought she loved him.  He knew what
she loved, what she needed.  She got what she loved rammed through lips
stretched wide to accomodate and over a pulsating tongue and into her throat.
She swallowed involuntarily, found it hard to breathe through him, struggled
with too much to consume.  Her mouth was hot and it was wet; it desired to
take him within itself and to spit him out, sucked frantically and convulsed,
each movement bringing him closer and closer to climax. But it was not time
yet to fill her, and finally, regretfully, he pulled beyond begging reach of
her mouth.  She took to kissing his legs, his testicles.  He grabbed a skein
of hair and yanked, causing her to moan again, and to look upwards.
 
With a hand motion, he told her to flip over.
 
This, he knew, was the final test of his mastry.  He knew that she was
always extremely reluctant to be taken from behind, but that was how it
was going to be tonight.  Unless, of course, she wanted to be left cold
and empty on the bathroom floor, never to see him again, only to dream of
closure.
 
This night, she accepted it without question.  Probably was expecting it,
possibly even wanting it.  She moved to her knees, placed her hands slowly
on the floor and lowered her torso, simultaneously raising her ass to the
bathroom door.  He pressed her head further down, so it touched the floor.
Ran his hand over her back, underneath for a while to caress her pendent
teats, back towards the rondure of her posterior.  Positioning himself
behind her, he admired the tight pink of her vagina, her welcoming orifice,
created specifically and explicitly for his enjoyment.  A true blonde--he
appreciated that.  Light pubic hair was very rare in his experience and
completely to be enjoyed.  Her ass was very much like her face, round and
slightly chubby, pert cheeks and full lips.
 
He readied her with his mouth, dancing lightly over labia, lingering
deliberately upon clitoris, tasting her moisture and leaving his own to
facilitate the eventual violation.  She was rocking back and forth on the
floor, with the pleasure of it all.  He imagined she was tonguing the very
tiles, covered with dirt and ammonia as they were, in anticipation of
entry.
 
And then he plunged, and it was good.
 
As warm and tight as she'd ever been, aided by rocking motion and an
incredible amount of moisture.  She had already spent once; her cries
had made that plainly evident.  But she was working diligently towards the
second, and her deep-seated need drove him.  Here she was, face to the
floor and ass to the sky in total and utter aquiescence to his desire.
When he climaxed, it was with a grunt and a huge shooting spatter that
drove deep within her.  He knew she felt it, sensed her sympathetic orgasm
that made her shiver and milk his penis of every last drop of fluid.  He
contracted again and again.
 
After a while, he withdrew, sat against the wall.  She wanted to get up, but
he insisted she remain that way, spread to the world, while he recharged and
readied his second assault.  She heaved, breathless with the effort.  Her
tits bobbled nicely with her breaths, and he felt the faint stirrings
already.
 
Neither he nor she had noticed that the door had opened in the middle of
the act, nor the very confused individual who had peered at the raging
couple for a few moments before beating a hasty retreat.
 
--